Palpitations
by Val-Creative
Summary: By his junior year of university, Hunk assumes he just never is gonna meet anyone special. But then Keith happens. /Modern AU. Heith. Oneshot.


**.**

 **.**

By his junior year of university, Hunk assumed he just never was gonna meet anyone special.

Special enough to divulge into the truth and help him confidentially admit it: Hunk could be braver than he allowed himself to be, when he jumps at every train-horn and shies away from the parties, or even from an overcrowded subway station. He could be more proud of himself. Feel more accomplished.

His professors in computer science and advanced engineering courses always seem to praise Hunk, whether it is his latest exam score or about a revolutionary and brilliant question he offered without prompting during class discussions. Hunk has been invited to their offices for a free lunch before and dragged along for engineering-science conferences held by different campuses out of the state.

It's a _career_ — shouldn't Hunk excel in it?

Food and creating new bold dishes is Hunk's true passion, and he's known for it among his peers.

To the point where it's close to stressful, being hounded by a desperate guy or seven of them asking for Hunk's truffles for Valentine's Day or Romelle batting her eyelashes over his kitchen-counter.

( _Girls_ haven't interested Hunk since he was in kindergarten and his parents tried to convince everyone he was gonna marry their friends' daughter Katie Holt. Katie collected bugs and made fart noises with her armpit and Hunk laughed along with her until his stomach ached. But at the end of the day, he didn't _like_ her in the way Hunk's parents wanted him too. Heteronormativity at its finest.)

Hunk loses his patience quickly with Dr. Holt insisting on a friendly visit to the lab and then his roommate Lance asking about what dinner is gonna be, as if Hunk would take a request because " _dude, I had this amazing Italian cuisine in Sicily with my Nana last week, and_ —"

His nose hasn't stopped sniffling since Hunk got his cold. He bundles up in a plum, knitted scarf and a powder-gray wool coat, racing out of the dormitories and hiding by the metal fencing of the university's baseball field, ducking himself into the comfortable blur of a non-fiction novel. Most of the area is surrounded by little, white-budding daisies, as tall as Hunk's shoulder height and Hunk easily vanishes among them if he slouches down enough, adjusting his brass-rimmed reading glasses.

"Are you Hunk?"

With a sinking, dreading emotion growing inside him, Hunk peeks over the rims in exasperation. A man around Hunk's age — taller, skinnier and paler — gazes down on him, solemnly curious.

"Look, whoever told you I could recreate your great grandmother's famous blackberry cobbler—"

Hunk doesn't mean to sound as irritable as he actually is, but the young man snorts out a laugh. "Whoa, _no_ —" He gestures out dismissively with a hand. There's a hint of dark stubble on his jawline and over his upper lip. Hunk finds himself staring a little too obviously. "Lance told me you had the notes to Professor Shirogane's class yesterday. The stuff about the final exam?"

Oh. _Keith_.

He remembers him vaguely. Not a talker, even at the risk of losing participation points (Professor Shirogane is so nice he probably waives it for Keith) and does not make an appearance at study group.

After rummaging in his book-bag, Hunk presents out his notes.

"What happened?" he asks, surprised by his own interest in Keith as the other man grabs the crinkled, thin pages. Hunk just wanted to be alone. It's why he had been _hiding_ — and now Keith, wearing a form-fitting, brown bomber jacket and white tee and a pair of unremarkable and dirty blue jeans, shows up and Hunk _does not_ want Keith to end the conversation. At all.

"Skipped," Keith says dully, mock-saluting with the notes. Hunk watches on in mounting anticipation as Keith's _pretty_ pink lips twitch again. Pink like spun-sugar over a warmed, creamy and fluffy batter. "Thanks for the notes. I'll give 'em back before they open up the Commons."

Hunk rushes to go back onto his feet, as Keith turns away.

"Hey, Keith, _hey_ —" he says urgently, luckily catching Keith's attention after nearly tripping. "You wanna look them over? Together?" Hunk simpers, flushing. "My writing is, uhm, chicken-scratch."

The pages shift in Keith's bare hands. "Shit," he declares, almost thoughtfully, "You weren't lying."

"I mean, you don't gotta do—"

"—cool. I'm down." Keith shrugs, eyeing him and then licking his lips unconsciously. Hunk can feel his pulse threatening to quicken and his tummy somersaulting. _Oh my god_ — the prettiest guy he's ever seen wants to hang out with Hunk? "I gotta pick up my order at the All-Tea Shop. Not a far walk."

Hunk struggles to answer at first, beaming and nodding.

" _Cool_."

 **.**

 **.**

Since then, he and Keith have been casually seeing each other, going on dates to the bowling alley and Coran's karaoke bar. It feels like Keith _wants_ to open up to him, about the personal things and his feelings. He's got no problems apparently with holding hands with Hunk in public or kissing.

People on campus learned fast about what was going on, and for once — Hunk didn't care.

They can say _whatever_ they want.

When the sun goes down, Hunk boards one of the city buses and travels to a section of the downtown area where there are more shadowy, long alleys and missing streetlights than smiling, pleasant faces. He instinctively hurries towards Keith's apartment complex, avoiding eye-contact with a woman coming down the interior staircase who smells like she's taken a bath in bourbon and cat's piss.

Keith, his dark and silky hair pulled up into a ponytail, answers his door — _thank god_ — and greets Hunk with a smacking, wet kiss, Keith's hands lingering over his boyfriend's waist and hips.

"I can't believe you finally invited me over," Hunk says, nervously glancing around but excited.

There's a bunch of activated, yellow sun-lamps the further he goes in with Keith. The humidity in the front room feels stifling and thick. Hunk stares at the line of red-topped crates stacked up. "You wanna watch a movie?" Keith offers, reaching for a water bottle. "I gotta do this first…"

"What's _this_?"

"Watering my tarantulas," Keith tells him, like he's calmly explaining the weather to Hunk. At first, he thinks Keith must have said something _else_ … because there's no goddamn way he said…

The first clear-plastic crate opens, and Hunk nearly backs up into the wall, his eyes going big. A furry, dark blue-tinged tarantula sits in a mound of debris and webbing covering a half-buried pipe. "She's being really docile tonight," Keith says nonchalantly, plucking out her water bowl with tweezers.

His heart races so loudly in Hunk's ears that he can barely hear Keith naming off his _twenty_ or so tarantulas from adults to juveniles: a Cobalt Blue, Thailand Black, Dark Earth Tiger, Skeleton, Common Rose Hair, Orange Tree Spider, King Baboon, Asian Fawn, Panama Red Rump, Costa Rican Zebra, Brazilian Black, Trinidad Pink, Indian Violet, Java Yellow Knee, Dominican Republic Green Birdeater…

"She's a demon…"

"Oh, he's in a good mood…"

"I never see this one," Keith points out to Hunk, glancing over his shoulder as the other man stares helplessly at the gigantic brown-and-yellow striped tarantula. "He's always hiding in his burrow."

As soon as Keith isn't looking, Hunk swallows hard and pulls the collar of his shirt over his head.

Oh _no_.

 **.**

 **.**

In retrospect, Hunk figures he was exaggerating a little bit. A _little_.

(No matter how many times Keith asks him, with that pretty and quirking smile, Hunk is not _feeding_ any damn _spiders_. They can stay in their enclosures and do their _spider_ business.)

Seems like no time at all when the dating gets really serious. Keith plans to move out of his shitty, too-cramped apartment by the end of his lease and to be too-cramped with Hunk in his own. The question now burning in Hunk's mind as soon as they discuss it is…

"What about your… _uh_ …?"

Keith gulps down a mouthful of crafted, malt beer from the other end of the table. "Yeah, Matt's gonna take all of them for me," he announces, cutting up the sauced, grilled meat on his plate with a knife and fork and Hunk nearly collapses from relief. "He's got more room for them while they're getting bigger."

He may not be a _fan_ of Keith's choice in pets, but Hunk does glimpse a flicker of sadness in Keith's expression.

"But you love your tarantulas," Hunk insists, putting aside his own opinion.

"I can still visit them." Keith then chuckles, grinning widely and pushing his foot against Hunk's knee teasingly. "Hunk, I _know_ you get freaked out about them, but seriously… the fact you didn't run out the first night seeing all of them says a lot about you."

 _Oh_ …

Hunk returns the grin, setting down his dinner plate and leaning over to brush his mouth softly over Keith's lips. "Thanks, Keith," he whispers, muffling out a low, gladdened noise into Keith's hair.

"I'm keeping Molly though."

It feels like the wind gets knocked out of him. "Who… is Molly again?" he asks slowly, and then watches in astonishment as Keith holds out _Molly_ hidden in his lap, chilling on Keith's palms like it's nothing at all. Hunk stiffens when the large tarantula stirs. She's masked with black and silvery grey hairs, waving two of her legs midair as if judging who is in front of her, before going still again.

"She's a rescue and had been defanged before I got her. She's a good girl, I promise," Keith explains, gently smoothing a fingertip over her backside. Hunk guesses she must be a much older tarantula than the others the way Keith looks so upset while talking. "I just wanna be with her when she goes."

Oh god, he shouldn't… but …

Instead of scuttling, Molly allows Hunk to pet her with his fingertip for a millisecond.

Keith gazes up at Hunk like he's completely in awe of him. "We can keep her," Hunk says, trying to grin again, and mentally steeling himself when the tarantula cuddles down into Keith's hands. Keith's fingers littered with an assortment of tan, fabric Band-Aids and rainbow chalk from their earlier outing. Keith has always been more tough than anyone Hunk has ever met in his life.

But Hunk kinda likes the feeling of twice as brave.

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* * *

 _Voltron isn't mine. ITSSSSSSSSS TIME FOR THE HEITH SECRET SANTA! I'm on the last day of posting and I really hope my giftee paladooodles enjoy this! If you can name the Youtuber who helped inspire my plot, you get a brownie. And a hug. Thanks for reading this and any comments/thoughts are so so appreciated!  
_


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